Letting Go
by Kaokie
Summary: Their lives were a roller coaster that they'd never consented to go on. BonesOC. Sequel to 'Good Morning, Doctor'. Dialogue heavy and bad title. Rated for McCoy's swearing. May be another installment.


**A/N: **I don't own Star Trek, only Dr. Springer, random extras and Aldric Thayer. Oh noes. Anyways. This is the sequel to '_Good Morning, Doctor_'. It has a lot of dialogue and is pretty chaotic with no clear plot. Oh well! Tell me if you see any obvious mistakes in grammar or spelling that the computer or I can't catch. Correcting my German is very welcome too! Or if you see Springer starting to become a Mary-Sue.

**A Note About Aldric: **His death isn't supposed to be the traumatic Mary-Sue past that Amelia's unhappy with, rather it serves to make her doubt herself and her intentions where she was before very sure of herself. I dunno. If it seem's Sue-ish, go ahead and tell me.

* * *

**Letting Go **

* * *

The ship jerked violently to the left and the good doctor fell to the floor. His tools scattered on the ground and he tried desperately to gather them again, but another jolt sent him into the cabinet behind him. Bones grabbed the hypospray desperately and rushed to the biobed that Crewman Lori inhabited currently. He made a quick dab on the neck with the painkiller and then balanced himself during another jolt before he found his other patients. New injuries were being rushed in every other minute, faces blended together until the entire collection of crew-members were one singular unit. The only difference among the faces were the things wrong with them.

Broken legs, head trauma, broken ribs, broken arms, bruises, more breaks, more bruises and more trauma. As the battle wore on the injuries got worse and the blood-loss became more and more severe. There was a crewman with a pole clean through his leg - under normal circumstances he would have wondered exactly how it had happened, but now he didn't have time. Some were dead for sure and he knew he couldn't do a thing. Guilty memories of Aldric Thayer appeared in the faces of those doomed to die. Others were on a line teetering between life and death and he knew that unless he reached them in time they would cross onto the other side of that line.

But they were all still the same face, that was until a rather familiar face appeared in a biobed. Life-signs were unstable, brain activity going down slowly, heartbeat fading into nothing. A face he'd loved - or rather briefly been intimate with a few days ago on Risa - with congealing blood and a definite concussion. Dr. Springer was seconds away from falling asleep, and if that happened she was either going to be dead or comatose. Her left arm was still injured from before and had been healing at least a little, but whatever impact she had suffered gave her worse than it had been before.

"Doctor McCoy," Nurse Chapel called to him, trying to tear him away, "doctor, Crewman _Reid_."

"Just a damn moment," came the almost inaudible reply as he got her heart and lungs stable at least with a hypo or two.

Time slowly passed with more and more jolts to the ship, they were retreating but the enemy ship was hot on their trail. They had tried to strike up negotiations but to no avail - these people didn't feel keen about talking out their problems, the only thing McCoy could think was that Dr. Springer would've done a better job at talking it out with them than Jim had done before the attacks started. After an hour, however, everything stopped. The ship stood still and silent in the emptiness of space and the enemy ship stopped, waited for a moment and then left never to be seen again. Bones couldn't tell what had happened from where he was but all he knew was that he was glad for it.

The crew of the _Enterprise _went into massive repairs. Engineers started working with a fervor, people from Command were ordered to help out in the Engine rooms and the Sickbay. Jim even came by to do a few stitches on some of the injured crew-members or help calm down the less than willing crewmen going into surgery. Their caseload had stopped going up, and this was the best news. But the damage had been done and Bones couldn't focus not knowing how Dr. Springer was doing.

Jim approached him. "Dr. Springer's here."

"Yes, yes she is. How are her vital signs?"

"She's alive, was all I could make out," the captain sighed, "you have got to save that woman."

Bones stopped dead in his tracks. Did the captain seriously think he needed to be told that? Dammit! That man was so infuriating! He knew that he needed to keep that woman alive. He couldn't particularly do that though with all these other patients, he couldn't give preferential treatment just because of what had happened between them. Jim probably already knew about that though.

"I know I do, Jim!" The Georgian exclaimed. "I know what my job is! I don't need some swaggering, over-emotional male-prostitute who thinks he knows everything about love or romance or some such trying to tell me that I need to follow my heart or whatever the hell you call it and save the woman I love and all that jazz!"

"Whoa." Jim stopped him, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I was thinking more like what sort of crap am I going to have to deal with from Starfleet if I my _Psychologist _dies in a battle. Or how's the crew going to act without therapy for however long until we get a new shrink. And-" The captain's eyes went wide now. "-_are you serious_? I didn't think she was your type... Technically speaking, I'm going to have to look into this matter more seeing as you've just breached a pretty important part of protocol. But in any case, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss this. Go take care of the girl, the rest of your able doctoring crew can take care of those who are still alive."

"Thanks Jim, I..."

Kirk interrupted once more, "No need, Bones."

And so he was given leave to check on Dr. Springer. She was indeed alive, but not awake and definitely not going to be for a few days. Her temperature was low, so he got out another blanket from the supply closet and placed it on her, before he began to clean the blood from her face, revealing that the scrapes and trauma had stopped bleeding at least behind all of the blood that had dried. His mind felt a dark cloud descend above, though he knew recovery would be likely if he took the necessary actions. The problem was that it wouldn't be a _speedy _recovery, and her English could suffer because of the injury until she was all better. But the most unnerving thing that he could think of was the question of how she had gotten hurt in the first place all the way over on Deck 12 where her quarters were.

* * *

After three days clean-up was almost complete, the initial patients in sick-bay from the attack that were going to make it were on a road to recovery, while those that weren't were sent home on another ship to say their last goodbyes. Scotty had taken to coming in once in a while to check on his engineering crew, the poor souls that he had taken to calling his children when they couldn't get things right. And Mr. Scott had acted very much like a father to them, or at least some sort of family with the way he needed to be updated about their progress every damn moment. Like he was one to talk, the entire three days his hands were doing surgeries and stitches and checking-up on his other patients, but his mind was on Amelia who was still comatose for the moment.

It was confirmed that she had indeed been injured in her quarters, all those bookcases were bolted to the wall with corroded metal and one had fallen on her. The noise alerted a passing crew-member and she had been quickly taken to sickbay, and had she not been found sooner she would have died under that bookcase. He requested that when her quarters were repaired the bolts be secured by Mr. Montgomery Scott himself or else he'd throw a fit.

After 73 and a half hours of worrying and fussing that he almost felt like bashing his head into the wall especially since in place of sleep he sat by her bedside, debating within himself whether he was there as her physician or her friend or something else entirely. It was right about when he was ready to slam his head in the door that he heard the beeping on Dr. Springer's machine grow stronger. Brain activity rose from comatose to consciousness in a matter of minutes.

"Doctor Springer."

"Doctor..." the woman started, but didn't finish. Her eyebrows arched in a sharp formation as she thought deeply. "Doctor.... Doctor something, but it's not coming to me. I do know you though. You're the CMO, stubborn bastard who wouldn't show up for his sessions. I remember. I remember what happened between us, too. I just... can't think. _Gott im Himmel_, what the hell hit my head and gave me this god-awful headache?"

"Doctor McCoy," he helped her. "Your bookcase fell on you because of improper bolting and gave you more than just a god-awful headache. You were out three days and you're experiencing some nominal aphasia, which means you can't remember names of people, places, or things even if you know what they are."

"I know what.... I know it's...." Eventually she gave up trying to find the word that he had just said to her. "I know what _that _is. I study things like that."

"What's the study called?" Bones asked maliciously.

He earned a nasty look from her. "You're such a-."

"Sadist?" He offered. "I know."

"I was going to say it. I remembered _that _at least!"

A small chortle. "So how'd you sleep, Doctor?"

"Not so well. I had a weird...," she stopped again. "A weird...."

"Dream?"

"Yes!" she nodded. "The whole time I was out, over and over I had this weird-."

"Dream."

"Yes."

"I wouldn't doubt it. You had severe head trauma," he held up her chart to show her, "you're going to have to stay here until you return to normal."

"I have... _Reports _to write, doctor, and patients to see. If it's been three days then I've missed out on a lot."

"Yeah, because you'll be of so much use to us like this," the doctor mumbled, and apparently she heard him because it looked like she took offence. Was his bedside manner always this bad? He abandoned that route for want of a new one. "_Everyone _is behind, Dr. Springer. The _Enterprise _is still undergoing repairs."

"To its crew's psyches as well, so doubly important that I be there to help." The two doctors simultaneously made a face that said 'come on, give in', though neither did and in the woman's medical condition and station she wasn't allowed to override the orders of the Chief Medical Officer. "Alright."

"Glad you see things my way."

* * *

It had been five days now since she'd woken up, and Dr. Springer showed definite signs of progress - though she still couldn't look at Dr. McCoy and remember his name, or anyone else's for that matter. When she'd received a transmission from her mother she couldn't recall that her name was Theresa or her two brother's names no matter how many times she was told by her family. It seemed that her vocabulary was back to normal, however.

He was still keeping her in Sickbay, but allowed her to conduct her sessions in an empty exam room with those who felt they needed it. Several crew-members had visited for them, but more still to only give their regards. Perhaps out of fear or guilt that they would cause her unneeded stress if they brought their problems to them. No one came that seemed to be an actual friend however, which seemed to prove the woman's previous claims that she knew how to be a shrink better than she knew how to form relationships with people. But she needed one when with each new day that she woke up and couldn't recall his name Bones saw Dr. Springer grow increasingly become more frustrated, so he decided he'd give it try - even if he was never any good at it.

Dr. McCoy sat next to the woman as she lay in her biobed looking at one of the books she'd been reading recently. Tolkien. A smile crept onto his face as he remembered reading _The Hobbit _as a child. "Which book is that?"

"The Fellowship of the Ring," she answered dreamily, and her voice was in the room but from the look in her eyes her mind was in another place entirely. As she closed it she looked at her hands as if they were the most interesting specimens she'd ever seen. "I'm surprised I can remember even that."

"Reading and writing work in different ways in the brain than speaking and hearing," he explained, "when you read the title it goes somewhere different than if you'd have heard it. But that's not important."

"I should know how the brain works," she sighed.

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "The aphasia wouldn't have made you forget."

"It didn't. You can't forget what you didn't know to begin with."

"Don't be so hard on yourself - you're a psychiatrist, not a neurologist."

She opened her book again, which sounded like a newly bought book from the way the spine cracked as she did. Her mother must have sent it, having known her affinity for the old paper volumes. "Sometimes the two studies are intertwined. The physical characteristics of one's brain directly correlate to one's mental state. I should know more than I do about it."

"Brain surgeons can't do the sort of fixing that you do with people. Just like you can't operate on any lobes, they can't sit in your chair and help people through their lives."

"I suppose," she stubbornly glanced over the book. "You know, for someone as gruff and socially awkward as yourself, you sure are good company."

"Because you're not awkward at all!" Bones lifted his hands and stood up to get a drink from his private stash. "How are you doing with names, Dr. Springer?"

"As poorly as before," he heard her murmur disdainfully.

"My name doesn't come to mind?"

"No."

"Nor the captain's?" He returned with his bourbon in hand and took a sip.

"Nor the captain's, I'm afraid. Isn't drinking while on duty technically malpractice?"

"Only if I screw up an operation and people feel like grubbing for all the money I'm worth. Which isn't much now, actually," he snorted, _someone _had made sure of that when she'd decided to give up on years of marriage.

Dr. Springer laughed a pathetic little laugh and refused to look at him anymore, instead she pulled her book closer to her face and turned away. He still heard a sound when the tears she'd tried to hide hit the paper. "What's wrong, Ms. Springer?"

"I..." she stopped, wiped her eyes and put the book down, carefully marking her place. "It's nothing really."

"If it were nothing I'm not sure you'd be crying, unless you want me to check your eyes."

"I don't want to forget you," she breathed in, taking that breath that tried to keep you from choking on your tears but never really did. (Obviously he had some experience.) "I know you, for God's sake!"

"You didn't forget me, you forgot my name because your brain just isn't working right because of the trauma. When things clear up you'll be all better again."

"If they clear up. In things like this there is a chance of permanent damage." What he guessed was supposed to have been a claim of a statistic sounded more like a testimonial. He heard the painful memory of someone who had been through this with someone and hoped never to have to be in the other's place.

"Who was it, Ms. Springer? An uncle? A grandfather?" She didn't reply. Then he remembered, she'd received so many calls from her mother and brothers, but never any from her father - and her personnel file had never said anything about deceased family members. "Your dad."

She looked at her hands again, "He was a genius engineer on the _U.S.S. Marseilles _when it happened. When he came home he didn't remember my mother - the woman he'd loved his entire life. He didn't know his own name. He still doesn't."

"And you don't want to see yourself become like him."

"I wanted to go into space because of him. I just didn't want to forget the people I loved."

"So you went into the safest field Starfleet had to offer in order to avoid his fate."

"_Tja_! A lot of good it did me."

"You're going to recover," he assured her, taking another sip. "Your last examination showed definite signs of progress. And you haven't forgotten any words since yesterday."

"Just your name."

"Which is forgivable, it's not the most heroic name anyways."

"How often do _you _forget the name of the people you care about?"

"I'm not the best person to ask. I don't have very many people I care about. But I see your point." He stopped. "You _care _about me?"

"_Ja_, as a good friend. Is that bad?"

"Not at all," he said incredulously. They had parted after waking up together with a sort of understanding but he hadn't known how she felt about it all. They hadn't talked about it, and he was surprised to see that the woman didn't feel so awkward around him. He'd never expected that making a sane friend would be so easy with his bad luck. "You're sure this is a purely platonic sorta caring?"

"As platonic as either of us can manage given the circumstances," she clarified with a slight smile.

He didn't return the gesture. "Given the circumstances, that's not saying much."

"We were drunk. What friendship I can offer is more real than anything physical we may have shared for that brief moment, Leonard."

It wasn't the answer he was looking for exactly, but upon having heard his name the grump of a doctor couldn't help but raise the corners of his mouth into a grin. He was just glad that she was getting better, and by the manic glee apparent in her eyes she was glad, too. He would be a friend for her sake and cast aside all doubts as to the true nature of their awkward multi-cultural and borne-of-alcohol semi-professional relationship for now. It was a moment that required the utmost celebration.

"I'll take you up on that offer, _Amelia._"

* * *

Despite their newly formed friendship, Dr. Springer had little time to be around McCoy. She'd been busy enough as it was without being almost two weeks behind on her reports. Over the course of the week following her full recovery Bones had barely seen his new companion unless it was in the halls for a brief few seconds before she had to rush off back to work. The other areas of the ship were in close to perfect shape now. This meant the Captain had more time and was less likely to forget things and more likely to assume his duty as ship cock-blocker.

That wasn't to say that Kirk enjoyed ruining relationships on the ship before they even began (or that there was going to be anything else between the two doctors in the foreseeable future, but McCoy had implied something of the sort to the captain) in fact he hated it. Jim's own romantic tendencies made him sensitive to the pursuits of others, especially his officers and friends. However Starfleet regulations on the matter were strict and if an officer's love life got in the way of their duties it would be Jim's career on the line for not looking into the matter.

The C.O. entered Sickbay with a purpose, and Bones knew this purpose the moment he set foot in his territory. The doctor attempted to make it look as though he was busy with a patient, but the captain knew better - Jim had seen all of his tricks in their time in the academy.

"Bones, we need to talk about my shrink," he declared, clapping the other man on his shoulder as was his custom, "whom you referred to offhandedly as 'the woman you love'."

"Did I say that?" the CMO muttered.

"You did." Jim forced eye contact between the two of them. This was obviously not 'joke around with your friend' time. This was 'serious answers for serious business' time. "Are you two a thing?"

"I," he started, "slept with her, Jim, but we were drunk."

Kirk whistled, his previous tone of severity absent now. "Then this is - what? - your first time since the divorce? Was she alright with it? Are you seeing her regularly now?"

"She seemed alright with it after we woke up on the planet, but we didn't talk much until after she was brought in because of her little injury. She wants to just be friends, frankly with what she's been through these last couple months I understand."

"There's no such thing as just friends, Bones, not after something like that. She either wants to do you again or forget about you completely. Being just 'friends' is awkward and tense."

"So what she feels matters, but not me?"

"I already took that into consideration," the captain said expertly.

"You did? And what do I feel exactly?"

"You don't love her, per say, you haven't known her that long, but you do know that you care about her and are physically attracted to her. You feel for the woman, Bones, you slept with her after all. Which either means you just needed a good lay - but you'd been fine up until that point - or you subconsciously wanted to be with Dr. Springer."

"We were drunk, dammit!" the doctor insisted, but Jim snorted.

"And for some reason you still want to do her even though you're not drunk anymore. Cmon, Bones! You've got a thing for her."

"Alright, I'll let you have that," McCoy sighed. His friend seemed happy at least that he'd finally admitted that. "It's too soon, though. Her husband died two months ago, she's still trying to get her office and her brain reorganized after the attack and she's overwhelmed with two weeks of work she didn't get done!"

"I've got the last one taken care of. In a week or so we're getting another shrink. Starfleet agreed that one person can't deal with 450."

"And the other problems, Jim? She'd known Aldric for years, even if what they had was starting to die down."

"Give it a little time then, but that isn't going to change how either of you feel. All it's going to do it make you miserable because you can't tell each other about it."

"I s'pose you're right, Jim," Dr. McCoy agreed. There was a long wait before either of the two good friends said another word. "Should I go talk to her?"

"Who better to answer that question than a shrink?" Jim smirked.

Bones grumbled at the captain's gesture but the C.O. knew that the old coot was grateful for the talk. It was certainly the least Jim could do for three years of favors he owed the man.

"Oh! And Bones?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"You still got it."

* * *

And so Dr. McCoy went down to Deck 12 and found the woman in the halls with a PADD in her hand, fervently scribbling notes with a stylus. He walked alongside her and cleared his throat to get her attention. She jumped a little and put the device in her pocket as they went.

"_Guten Morgen_," she saluted, and he nodded in a polite manner. "How are you, Leonard?"

"Good, thanks," he said lamely first, and then just as lamely, "about the whole friendship thing..."

"You think it's not going to work either?"

He shook his head. "Maybe not that it won't work because we can't, but because it'll hurt the both of us."

"So what should we do?" She asked expectantly.

A pregnant pause. They walked in silence for a few meters. "I don't know. What do you want, Amelia?"

"The things I want aren't always the right thing."

"Right and wrong are relative." He reminded her. "What do you want?"

"I want to forget about Aldric and move on, but hasn't been more than two months."

"A wise man once said time won't change how you feel." _Wise my ass, Jim Kirk never had a single _wise _bone in his body._ "A million months won't change the fact that we had sex. Does that make you feel anything?"

"It does. I feel like I want to see what could happen between us. I also feel that a man isn't dead so long as he's remembered. If I forget Aldric, I'll let him die."

"Don't forget him then." They'd stopped. Amelia wasn't looking at him, but he kept his gaze on her. "How many people have you helped who have lost someone?"

"Dozens."

"And how long does it take any one person to cope?"

"No set period of time, Leonard."

"Then how can you say it hasn't been long enough? A million different factors go into it."

"You're speaking with bias. If I move on you stand to gain."

"And so do you."

Dr. Springer closed her eyes as they stood there, put a hand on the wall beside them to steady herself, and he could tell why - she wanted to stop the tears falling from her eyes. It didn't work however, and the two officers stood awkwardly as a few ensigns walked by. Amelia rubbed her eyes on her sleeve, but her efforts to stop crying still failed. "You're having a hard time letting go?" the doctor asked weakly, somewhat guilty that he'd provoked this, and offering his shoulder for her to cry into. She accepted with no hesitation. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have started going on about this."

"No," she shook her head, and instead of a sob came out a relieved sort of hybrid sigh-laugh, "I'm having a hard time believing that it was that easy to let go when you said that."

Dr. McCoy held her tighter.


End file.
